


Reckoning (Act II)

by yorkisms



Series: For the Sake of Revenge [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Korean Waylon Park, Multi, Past canon major character death, Past torture and abuse, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Waylon Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-13 00:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18021692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorkisms/pseuds/yorkisms
Summary: Miles, in advance of doing something very, very risky, takes a detour to see his college buddies he professionally third-wheeled for, with Waylon tagging along. Unfortunately, they may be too late, as a warning turns into a rescue mission without their interference, and they're going to have to add a new member to their weird little love story.





	1. Arizona

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this is my 60th official distinct work on AO3! I'd like to thank the academy! 
> 
> This, of course, follows Act I [Prelude.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17901485/chapters/42261092) While I think the pieces stand on their own, they're best read together. This act brings in Blake and [the figurative ghost of] Lynn, as Miles and Waylon track him down, save him from Murkoff, and offer him their care. 
> 
> The endgame for this story is a polycule of the main three boys together, and Waylon still with Lisa, who approves. Polyamory isn't always neat triangles- but it can work that way. (Unfortunately, that's pretty hard to tag, thanks ao3.)
> 
>  
> 
> _But you never will, the little child of the wild_  
>  _You've got a skin, gray coat, they hate_  
>  _No, you cannot hide behind your glowing eyes_  
>  _You bear the sign and it won't fade._
> 
>  
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, _It Won't Fade_

There’s a terrible feeling in the air as Miles pulls up at the news office in Flagstaff where, as he last heard it, Lynn was working as a field reporter.

“Miles? Are you sure you want to draw their attention to it?” 

“I have to, Way, they’re pretty much the only people left I care enough about for Murkoff to take away.” Miles pauses. “I just have a...an instinct.” 

“What kind?” 

“Not that this is the wrong thing to do, but that-- something else is wrong.”

“Do you think it’s a trap?” 

“They didn’t call us. I doubt it. Let’s go.” 

The secretary politely informs Miles that Lynn and Blake are currently out. 

“They’re filming regarding an unexplained death just north of here, at the Havasupai Reservation.” 

Waylon frowns to himself. He’s heard that name before. 

“Do you know when they’ll be back?” 

“No, not yet, my apologies. Should I tell them you called?” 

“No, I’ll contact them. Thank you.” 

Waylon trails after Miles on the way back to the car, digging into the past few weeks for memories of where he heard that name before. 

It hits him as he’s buckling his seatbelt. 

“Miles, where-- where that lady said your friends were, we need to go there, right now.” 

“What do you think I was doing?” 

“N-No, you don’t--” Waylon stutters for a moment before managing, “There is at least one Murkoff MKULTRA site out there and if it’s anything like Mt Massive they’re already in more trouble than they would be from knowing us!"

Miles shifts the car into gear. “Then we’ll have to move. I need you to tell me everything you know about this facility. Everything you can find.” 

\--

“I said everything you can find, Waylon!” Miles barks, and Waylon, though he knows he can snap back, pulls the laptop closer to him. 

“The, the bits are slower when we do this on the road! I, I have a location, but it’s going to take me a while to find anything else. I, I know it’s a site like Mt. Massive, Miles, it’s in the files. It’s out in the wilderness. They, there’s a tiny commune out there no one’s thought of in years. It must be where Murkoff is- I, I don’t have any background, okay?” 

Miles stops in his tracks. “I’m sorry for yelling, Way.” 

“N-No, I- you- your friends are in danger. I, I’d be yelling at you if Lisa was in danger.” 

“Hard to picture you yelling, Park.” 

“If only you had seen me when I was younger," Waylon says with a sigh. “Lis and I were part of the first generations of queer activists after the-- after the 80s, you know? We, we didn’t do anything too crazy, no arrests or anything, but I-” Waylon sighs. “I used to have,  _ balls _ , you know? Maybe not balls, not literally, but-- Lis called it  _ chutzpah. _ Once I had friends, that is.” 

“That’s not the kind of thing that just goes away.” 

“Maybe not for you,” Waylon says quietly, typing away. “For me, I-- I forgot how to be the person Lisa fell in love with.”

“Way...Lisa still loves you.”

“She does. But I’m not all  _ me _ anymore, and I think that scares me more than it scares the two of you. Stay on this freeway, ok?”

Miles gets the hint and pushes the gas pedal into the floor. “Okay. I will.” 

\--

“Stay here,” Miles says sternly. The sky is red with the rise of the sun, and Waylon can see the swarm swirling around Miles’ feet like a dust devil. Whoever these people are, Miles must love them, because he’s pissed off now. The black in his eyes swells, engulfs his irises and then his sclera, until he’s the figure that followed Waylon out of Mt. Massive- not just Miles Upshur, but _the Walrider._ _Mara. Nightmare._

Waylon swallows nervously. 

“You remember,” Miles says, voice staticky. “I can’t let you near any other projects like the Morphogenic engine. I have to do this on my own.” 

“What if you don’t come back?”

“I will. I promise.” 

The dust devil around Miles swells, and then he’s gone. 

Waylon locks the car and lies under the backseat, his heart pounding in his ears. 

\--

Miles parts the village- Waylon said it was called  _ Temple Gate- _ before him. There’s almost no one there anymore, and terrified, he hears murmurs of a man and woman from the outside passing through. 

Those are his friends. That must be, has to be, Blake and Lynn. 

Miles feels the tug of Murkoff-frequency technology, and lifts one hand, nanotechnology curling around it like a storm in the making. 

The Walrider isn’t its own form of thought, it’s part Miles, part machine, but it can take orders. And now, Miles issues one order with all the vindictiveness he can summon. 

_ Destroy that facility.  _

The swarm winds up, like the revving of a car engine before a race, and Miles spreads his arms as the almost magical technology flows through him, and he swears to the red sky he’s going to level this god-forsaken wilderness until he finds Blake and Lynn.

\--

“Do you want the passenger seat, Way?” 

The presence of the swarm fills the car, almost sucking the air out of Waylon’s lungs. “Not right now.”

Miles turns the key in the ignition. 

“Whe- where are your friends?” Waylon immediately wishes he hadn’t asked, because the presence just gets thicker and thicker. 

“Lynn is dead.” 

“What?” Waylon squeaks, breathless. 

“The same phenomenon we discovered in our files from Mount Massive. Psychosomatic pregnancy and miscarriage. Out here without proper medical care, Lynn...she never would have stood a chance.” 

“I’m sorry, Miles,” Waylon responds, voice soft, as the unconscious tears leaking from his eyes are soaked up by the car’s carpeted floor. 

“They’ve taken Blake. God knows where.” 

“We-- we have to find your friend, then, right? We have to find him?”

“Can we?” 

“We’re the only ones who can. I-- I know what Murkoff does with people. We- he’s still in trouble. They, they might set him up with the best medicine and doctors and psychiatrists in the world but it’s, it’s because they want him to, to talk, or do tests, or, or something, they’re just keeping him around because he’s valuable to them! I- Miles, you can’t give up on him.”

“I’m  _ not _ giving up on him!” Miles growls, swarm’s static pressing into his voice. “I would  _ never! _ ” 

“I know you wouldn’t!” 

Miles pulls himself back from the edge. It’s not worth it if he scares Waylon, puts him back in his own recovery. 

“Can-- Waylon, I need to take a breather. Can we just...not talk about this, right now. I was man of honor at Lynn’s wedding, and now she’s gone. I need to deal with that before we even think about anything else.”


	2. Nevada

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles mourns the loss of Lynn Langermann. Waylon, through the Walrider, learns something he didn't know before about his ex-boss- and about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blake will be here soon, I swear. Hold position, because he's coming in hot in the next chapter or so. 
> 
> Additionally, my language research might have been a little off and I apologize if it was- but in this chapter Waylon uses some Korean terms of endearment, and I'm just crossing my fingers it lands right.
> 
> _And I have lost your face_   
>  _It slips between my fingers now_   
>  _And all the world is gray_   
>  _As though you took the colors with you_   
>  _When you went and passed away..._   
>  _And though my blood runs the same as it did before_   
>  _Only difference is now, I can't feel it anymore._
> 
> \--Radical Face, _All is Well (Goodbye, Goodbye)_

_ “Miles!” Lynn waves him over to their table, and he adjusts his bowtie with a sly grin.  _

_ “How do I look? Not as good as you and your man friend, obviously, but-”  _

_ “Like you rented a tuxedo, Miles.”  _

_ “Just what I was going for.” _

_ Lynn stands up- a bit of a feat, in the draping fabric of her flowing dress- and tugs Miles into a hug. “Thank you so so much for helping with this. You’re the best.” _

_ “Yeah, I noticed. It was a beautiful ceremony, Lynn, really, it was a long time comin’.”  _

_ “We got you a seat at the VIP table, come on.” _

_ Lynn tugs him into a seat next to them, and puts her hands on his, grinning widely. _

_ “Congratulations, Blake,” Miles says, flashing his friend a thumbs-up. _

_ Blake looks stunned, but he smiles weakly. “Thank- thank you for being here, Miles, we-”  _

_ “-couldn’t imagine it without you.”  _

_ Miles has to grin so wide it hurts. Lynn Langermann is the smartest woman he knows, and Blake’s her number one fan. They’re gonna go so, so far. _

\-- 

“Miles, please, we’ve been driving all night, you need to stop and rest.” 

“I have to kill them, Way. I have to kill the bastards who let this happen to Lynn.” 

“There are too many right now,” Waylon pleads. “Just- pull over for me,  _ please. _ ” 

For a second Miles looks like he might not, and Waylon mutters a curse in Korean, but then Miles pulls over and startles Waylon not just by doing so, but by immediately breaking down into shaking tears, curling in on himself as if he doesn’t want Waylon to see. 

“Oh- Miles,  _ ae-in _ …” 

“It’s not- Way, I keep trying to process it and I can’t, alright? It’s- it’s  _ Lynn. _ She helped me write an expose on fraternities at our college that got them suspended for a year. I watched her fight off a handsy dude at a nightclub with her bare hands and a coke can. If it wasn’t for her morals she’d have carried a gun, Lynn can’t- she can’t be gone. I can’t have been stronger than her. It doesn’t work that way.” 

“That’s not what that means, Miles,” Waylon says softly. “That- that you survived Mt. Massive and she didn’t survive-- there. You just went through different things."

“You should have emailed her, Way, not me. Then maybe she’d have this stupid parasite and she’d still be here.” 

“And where would you be?”

“Definitely not dead in the wilderness after miscarrying a child that didn’t even exist. She died for nothing, Way, for nothing. Not even for trying to expose Murkoff. Blake and Lynn- I heard Murkoff talking. Blake and Lynn didn’t even know what was out there. She died, and now Blake is god knows where in god knows how much more pain than I am, physical AND emotional, and for what? A fucking monument to science gone too far? A fucking volume and a half of human misery? This is what we meant when we told you that your family shouldn’t get involved because that’s what fucking Murkoff would end up doing to them! To Lisa!” 

Waylon lowers his hand slightly. “Miles, I know it’s senseless, and awful, and you’re in a lot of pain from losing a friend who was very important to you.” 

“You think?” 

“But we have- what, um, what did we have to do in Mt. Massive, to survive that place?” 

Miles already knows the answer. “Keep walking at any cost. Keep running.” 

“Ex-Exactly. I, I know you have a lot of feelings, but that’s not going to help Blake, who is still alive, get away from Murkoff, or recover. I...we have to think about how to get out of these, these feelings and situations, instead of just getting into them and getting stuck, right? If, if we let these feelings pull us under, they win. That’s what- that’s what Lis says, and I think you know how smart Lis is with this stuff. I told you about how she knows how to make a Molotov cocktail, right?”

“It’s not that hard,” Miles mutters. 

“She’s done it on the fly before. My wife is a seasoned anarchist and I love her so much. Um, anyway, you get what I’m saying, right?”

“I get what you’re saying, Waylon.” 

“I, I think I should drive.” 

“As long as you don’t have another panic attack behind the wheel, Way.”

“I won’t, as, as long as you don’t yell at me.”

-

Miles curls up around Waylon that night, and Waylon lets him. 

“Do you want us to put you to sleep?” Miles asks. The power the Walrider gives him has become an integral part of their trust. It helps Waylon rest, and often helps him return from flashbacks and panic attacks. It puts him in a more relaxed, secure, trance-like mood that, while a relief, is solidly out of his control. 

“Not yet,” Waylon murmurs. Miles sighs.  “I’m okay with going Under,  _ ae-in _ , just not right yet tonight.” 

“I feel so fucking guilty when I get angry and you don’t, Way.” 

“That’s not your fault.” 

“You talk, sometimes. When you’re Under.” 

“I do? Do I say Lisa’s name? Because if that bothers you we need to talk about-”

“Not like that, babe, no. Not like that.” Miles shivers, pressing in. “Just...things I don’t know if you know. Consciously.” 

“What kind of things?” Waylon asks, curious. Miles pauses. 

“You didn’t want to go Under. Can we show you?”

“...alright.” 

The Walrider surges forth, and Waylon drowns in a memory that is neither his, nor Miles, but that of some previous collective knowledge. Of the previous hosts- of the Walrider. 

\--

_ “Sir?” _

_ Waylon sees the blurry form of Jeremy Blaire. Someone is talking to him.  _

_ “Yes, Andrew?”  _

_ “We’ve got Park in the inductory engine section. And we’ve set up your, uh, new...ideas.”  _

_ Jeremy Blaire smiles that smug smile that made Waylon, before the riot, before the morphogenic engine, before the end of the world, want to sell his soul just to deck this man once. He never got the chance.  _

_ “Excellent. Park wanted to be rebellious? Independent? Free-thinking? He’s never going to have another thought again. He’s never going to  _ _ fight _ _ again. He’s going to be too busy belonging to us. Go wake him up and turn it on. I think I’m looking forward to what he looks like when he’s too scared of his own shadow to even think of trying to run and see the sun, let alone his little family. Make that one  _ **_pay_ ** _.”  _

 

\--

Waylon returns to the present with a sharp gasp. Miles lowers his eyes. “We don’t know how deep it goes. We’ve been trying to wean you off whatever subliminals they gave you, that’s- it’s a stupid excuse, Way, but we’ve had trouble ‘getting’ how well it’s working. How much you can take. But if I die again, if I lose the Walrider again, whoever gets it just can’t have that much power over you, I-” 

“That bastard,” Waylon chokes out. “I should have decked his smug fucking face when I had the chance, I should have- you should have let me kill him, dammit!” 

Waylon futilely rests his fists on Miles’ chest, and Miles breaks out into a grin. 

“You sound pretty angry, Way.” 

“Y-Yeah! I’m fucking pissed! I-” Waylon breaks off, gasping as he realized what Miles is saying. “I’m  _ angry!  _ And we’re gonna make Murkoff pay!”

Miles has to laugh for the first time since he heard them say Lynn died, pulling Waylon to his feet so they can spin in a short, happy circle, a burst of light in the darkness. They’re getting better.  

“We  _ are! _ ” 

Waylon falls asleep grinning that night, because to be what someone tried to beat out of you, no matter what that is, is already an earth-moving act of rebellion.


	3. Utah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles and Waylon (with the help of the Walrider) bring back Blake. But it's never that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I'm adrift on the vast oceans,_  
>  _Can you feel me?_   
> _I will not see you again,_  
>  _Even if I live._
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, _The Day_

Miles watches with marginally more patience than he has before as Waylon taps away on the computer. 

“What have you done to that thing, anyway? Whenever I see you working on it it looks like you totally changed everything to do with it.”

“That’s kind of a long list, and computers aren’t your strong suit, Miles.”

“Try me.” 

“Well, I gutted the code and replaced the OS. I, uh, Windows is okay, I  _ guess _ , but, Linux is more reliable for the things I’m gonna use it for, like hacking Murkoff servers. I, I disabled the camera and microphone entirely, though that was just disconnecting some of the wires, and that’s not so much my wheelhouse. And I installed my personal anti-viral and anti-surveillance protocols and firewalls. Maybe I should have launched my anti-viral software as a paid thing instead of working for Murkoff.” 

“Wait. You wrote anti-viral software? Like Norton and shit?”

Waylon shrugs, typing. “I wrote the first edition after our kids were born. I...was lying awake every night thinking about how dangerous I know all this stuff is for kids, social media, YouTube, the internet...I wanted to make something that would protect them. And it’s better to have something you can customize. It’s handy now, right?” 

“What the fuck? Is that something just anyone can do?” 

“I-- I graduated Cum Laude from Berkeley, Miles. I, um, why are you surprised?” 

“It’s just impressive!” Miles exclaims, gesturing. “You just straight up-”

“I think a lot of hackers do this, Miles.” 

“But you weren’t a hacker before!” 

“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t have been.” Waylon spins around the computer to show a command prompt window displaying some notes from a Murkoff network. “I got it.” 

“You’re amazing!” Miles shouts. 

“Shh, Miles, we’re in a hotel!” 

“You’re  _ fantastic, _ Way!” 

Waylon puts his face in his hands, dizzy with gratitude and blushing. “Miles!” 

\--

Feeling sensation via the Walrider is muted, but there. Miles can feel the nanites wrapped around Waylon’s body, holding him in the air by the armpits like a troublesome kitten. 

“I don’t think this is going to work, Miles.” 

“It’ll work,” Miles assures him, eyes black with control of the swarm. “We’re just going to put you down in front of their servers, all you have to do is tell us where to go. Okay?"

Waylon swallows. “Maybe we haven’t cased the place enough, uh, what if the files are wrong, what if he isn’t-” 

“Way, don’t talk like that. You’re smart. You know computers. You read the files. You’ve done good, love. Point us in the right direction one more time and let us finish the job."

Waylon sighs, cursing under his breath in Korean. 

“Fuck it. Let’s do this.”

Three days before Waylon had pointed Miles in the direction of a Murkoff holding facility in Utah. Miles and the Walrider had watched the place for two days before asking Waylon if he could send them to Blake if they put him in front of a computer. 

Waylon had responded “Well, yes, as long as I can hook up to their on-site server.” 

Miles had said that that would involve the Walrider lifting him up the elevator shaft to the IT floor, which set both of their nerves firing- Waylon’s last time in an elevator shaft was not fun and games. But Miles had already swiped a key, not a badge, and keys, not badges, will only get them in the front door without tripping an alarm too soon. 

So Miles tugs open the elevator doors and motions with one hand, and the Walrider pulls Waylon- still holding him by the arms- up through the elevator. 

The Walrider deposits Waylon in the middle of the carpet on the IT level, and watches him for a moment as he rolls onto his back. 

“I’m okay, Miles,” Waylon says with a weak wheeze. 

Miles’ voice speaks through the Walrider, now. “Can you get one of these computers to work?” 

Waylon sits up. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Miles.”

\--

Blake Langermann has no idea how much time has passed. He’s drifted through things since he saw the sun consume all of Temple Gate as if it’s all a dream, moving between memories of Temple Gate, Saint Sybil’s, college, of Lynn, Jessica, and Miles. In between he sees a white room, but it barely distinguishes itself from the other things. Other places, other times. Most of the time, he thinks of nothing, says little.

For the first time, he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize from somewhere. It’s rough, raspy, and masculine in tone. 

_ We can wake him up. We think. _

Not Marta. Not Val. Not Knoth.

_ Wake up, Blakey. Wake up.  _

So familiar…

_ I need you, Blake, come on, c’mere. _

Blake rockets back to his body in a hospital bed he doesn’t recognize, in a place he can’t even comprehend, with a ghost he knows. 

“Miles?” Blake Langermann rasps out, voice sore from disuse, dizzy from the process of being returned to his reality. “Is that you?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Miles says softly, and his voice sounds normal now. “Lemme get you out of here.”

“Where-- where’s Lynn? What happened to her?” 

Miles looks at him sadly. “Lynn’s dead, Blake.”

“The baby-” 

“No baby. Just- please, come with me before they come back. I’ve got you. I promise.”

Blake jumps a little as an IV falls out of his arm. When did that get there? And how did it get pushed out?

Yet, he trusts Miles, and offers Miles a hand- starts at how they’ve healed, bandaged over still but not so sore to move. Before Miles takes his hand, Blake pulls it back and moves back the gauze. 

There’s a small, rough, fresh scar at the center of his palms, and on the backs. 

Blake gives his hands back to Miles, and almost starts crying. 

\--

For the first time, Waylon feels like a third wheel in his own relationship. He lies awake after telling Miles not to put him to sleep, listening to Miles and Blake talking gently, as Miles catches Blake up on the crimes of Murkoff. 

He listens to Miles talk about him.

“You know when I disappeared after Mount Massive?” 

“Lynn was worried about you,” Blake says, voice still rusty. “She said we should go looking, but I told her to give you a year. You’d never go a year or more without calling us once.” 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” 

Has it been that long? Almost a year? Waylon has no idea. 

“Who is he?”

“Way?” Miles says. “He’s a Mount Massive survivor too. He worked there.” 

“He’s Murkoff?” 

“He contracted for them. IT. He sent me the email about the dirt up there.” 

“Did he know?” 

“Hm?”

“That it was this bad?” Blake says. “I...it was like Temple Gate, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Miles says softly. “It was that bad. And no, he had no idea. He went through a lot to get here, Blakey, don’t hold it against him that I went too.” 

“You and he-?”

“His wife asked me to take care of him, and I do. It doesn’t matter, Blake, ok?” 

“Are you happy, Miles?” 

“I am.” 

Blake shifts where he’s sitting, putting his head in his hands. “I can’t- it’s all a mess, Miles. I can’t remember what’s real. I don’t even know if this is real.”

“It’s real.” 

“How do I know? That place made me see things- feel things- as if they were real. It- there’s-- there’s no way back to reality, not really.”

“What did you see there, Blake?” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

“One day you may have to.” 

“Not- please, Miles, not right now.” 

“Alright. Alright.” Miles pauses. “Do you remember when you and Lynn landed those internships at the PBS branch?” 

“When she had to be intern to that annoying anchor?” 

Miles grins. “Yeah, that one. Do you remember when he fired her for not smiling enough and she brought him down with a vengeance?” 

“I...I’ve never seen someone so angry.” 

“I miss her too, Blake. Let’s just...remember the good things about her, alright?” 

Blake hugs Miles tiredly. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this series is still in progress(tm) I feel the need to clarify this in the notes and edit later: The Walrider, in this personal timeline, can only mentally affect people who have already been influenced ("broken in" if you want to get dark about it) by Murkoff tech (Waylon being exposed to the engine, Blake to the signals in Temple Gate, though it has less possible venues for action in Blake's head since, well, that stuff was different from the engine itself. 
> 
> Thus, how it managed to wake Blake up so Miles could get him away from Murkoff.


	4. Idaho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake, Waylon, and Miles bond- at first awkwardly and sober, and then not-so-awkward and drunk. Blake and Waylon find they have a trauma in common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning for this chapter: 
> 
> Discussion of (relatively canonical) sexual assault- Waylon discussing Gluskin, and Blake discussing Val and Fr. Loutermilch. While not gone into in detail, if you wish to skip the section it starts at "What do you mean, Blake?" and ends, functionally, at "Did they screw with your head too?".
> 
> _And the windows and the cinders,_   
>  _And the willows in the timbers,_   
>  _The infernal rattling of the rain_   
>  _Still remains..._   
>  _"But I," said the bachelor to the bride_   
>  _"Am not waiting for tonight._   
>  _No, I will box your ears and_   
>  _Leave you here stripped bare."_
> 
> \--The Decemberists, _The Bachelor and the Bride_

Waylon maintains his monopoly over the passenger seat, and they let Blake lie down in the backseat as they floor it through the desert, heading north, where nobody knows them. 

“Hey, Way.” 

Waylon comes to attention as Miles calls. “Yeah?” 

“How are you doin,’ babe? You’ve been quiet.” 

Waylon pauses, then sinks down in his seat. “I’m not exactly a social butterfly, Miles. I don’t know what to say. When I met you at least I had something to tell you.” 

“And that something was ‘I’m sorry’ over and over often while sobbing. It’s probably good you don’t have to do that now.” 

“You know what I mean,” Waylon huffs. “Smart-ass…” 

“Do you think you can get Lisa to take a look at his hands?” 

“She’s a vet school dropout, Miles, not a doctor. She’s a  _ lawyer _ .” 

“We can’t trust anyone else,” Miles shoots back. Waylon lets out a noise to indicate that he’s conceding the point. 

“Okay, we can’t right now. But Miles, my entire life is a game of who’s trustworthy, even before Murkoff. Except before Murkoff it was a discrimination game.” 

“Look, I get that, but think critically, Way. Would I have come all this way for someone who wouldn’t treat you right?” 

Waylon’s silent. Miles tilts his head slightly.

“Did you think I would?” 

“You’d be allowed to. I don’t need-”

“No, Way, this isn’t where I turn around and punish you for talking. That’s never going to happen. I  _ promise _ .” Miles pauses, turning his eyes back to the road. “I worry about you when you think like that.”

“I’m sor-”

“Nope, don’t finish that, don’t make me get to the point where I need to spray you with cold water every time you apologize for being screwed up. What I was  _ going _ to say is, I’m not them. I’m not going to punish you for what you did, or what you do.” 

There’s a long silence. Blake shifts in the backseat. 

“Was it always like that there?” 

“Like what?” 

“Constant punishment.”

Waylon shrugs a little, curling in on himself. “No room for error. And they were always doing sweeps for people like me.”

“Whistleblowers.” 

“Mm. It was horrible, and wrong, and...I got used to them checking, tried something they never checked for before. Didn’t...didn’t work. They were everywhere.” 

“Okay, you don’t have to talk more if you don’t want to. Right?” 

Waylon shivers. “Right.” 

Blake quietly speaks up from the back. “Lynn and I had some college journalism classes together. We did some reading, once, about the legality of whistleblowing. We learned it was our job as the free press to protect people who felt that way.”

Miles nods, itching for a cigarette, but reminded that Waylon never lets him smoke. “When I got the email, I tried to follow up. With no response, out there, in such a place...when I started the drive out there, I was hoping I wouldn’t be too late.”

“Too late?” 

“I was hoping they hadn’t killed you. You...I had been following Murkoff for years-”

“I, I read your stories, Lis, Lisa and I liked to be well informed-” 

“-and I knew by now they were bad news, just not this bad. I figured if you weren’t replying, you were in jail or a shallow grave. I was half right. But I didn’t just come there for evidence, the point of journalism is to help people. And I knew at the  _ very _ least I could try to help you.”

Waylon falls silent. “I shouldn’t have--”

“Don’t, Way. Okay?” 

Blake clears his throat. “...who’s Lisa?” 

“Oh. Um, my wife. Lisa Klein Park. She’s keeping our children safe right now. We, we see her once in a while.”

“You have kids?”

“Twins, actually.” 

Blake sounds unbearably sad when he speaks next. “Oh. I see.” 

Waylon almost asks, but then he remembers what Miles said. Psychosomatic miscarriage. Oh. 

“You...since, since you’re sticking with us you can meet them next month, if you’d like. The twins can be a little much, but Lisa, um, she’s a good woman, she’ll help with just about anything you’d like.”

“...thank you.” 

\--

Stacked three to a bedroom (two in a relationship, one not) they get used to the quarters being tight and privacy being null. Blake pretends it doesn’t happen when Waylon and Miles take showers together, and then maybe take a little long. They appreciate it, even. Blake tries to ignore the curses that slip out of Miles’ mouth as he fumbles with his new lack of fingers, how Waylon limps more when he’s been crying at night and the pale scars on his torso. Miles pretends not to notice how Blake and Waylon keep looking at each other like they want to get along, but don’t know how. He passes over how angry he feels when he sees Blake’s hands spasm ever so slightly, or when Waylon tries to make himself look smaller. Waylon pretends he’s got it together, when he’s far from it. He pushes it out of his mind that he’s eavesdropped on too many instances of late night chatter about college, Lynn, life, only barely discussing the trauma that binds them all together. 

Then Miles buys them drinks and maybe, maybe, some special herbs, but they’d never tell. 

Then somehow, a few hours into their day-off experience, they’re actually talking for once, intoxication managing to loosen their inhibitions and let them talk like real people, for once.

“Never have I ever,” Miles pauses thoughtfully, swirling his drink of whiskey, “Had sex in a semi-public or public location.” 

Miles grins as Waylon takes a drink. 

“Damn, Way, what did you do!” 

“High school,” Waylon mutters with a grimace. “Did some fooling around with one of the football jocks under the bleachers. Really wish I hadn’t, he had no idea what he was doing, and I was already miserable.” 

Blake pauses, then takes half-a-drink.

“Okay, Langermann, why half.” 

“I, uh. Went down on Lynn once in a darkroom after-hours.” 

“Why are you two turning out to be badder than me!” Miles exclaims. “With the sex shit, I mean. I thought that one would whiff!” 

Waylon flushes, looking down at his drink. “I made bad choices in high school. Socially, I mean.” 

“Cheers,” Blake mutters. 

“Blake, go!” 

“Never have I ever…” Blake frowns. His memory is a little wrong, and as he recalled through his forced flashbacks in Temple Gate, he’s done some things very wrong. “Never have I ever thrown up from drinking.” 

Miles groans and knocks back a drink, before looking at Waylon who shrugs, otherwise nonmoving. 

“I was responsible about it in college. Sorry Miles, you’re on your own.” 

“Fuck!” Miles leans back, almost spilling his drink. “We’re fucking freaks!” 

“Miles,” Waylon laughs through a casual sip. “Come on.”

“Fuck, Way, you wrote your own antiviral program!”  

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Fuck!” Miles exclaims, as if that’s the only word he can think of. “Fuck, you guys are-- fuckin good. And sober! Why are you still mostly sober?” 

Blake smiles to himself. “You’re getting off track, Miles.” 

“Never have I ever written an entire computer security system by myself!” 

Waylon rolls his eyes and drinks. “That’s cheating, Miles.” 

Miles points at Blake. “Never have I ever...uhhh...passed J302 on the first try!” 

“Still bitter?” Blake asks before taking his drink.

“Fuck professor whatshisface! And fuck you for being so fuckin’ smart.” 

“That’s still cheating, Miles.” 

“I wasn’t smarter,” Blake counters, “He just didn’t like you and took it out on you. You got the moral victory here.” 

“HAVE FUN BEING FIRED, YOU CRUSTY OLD BITCH!” Miles shouts, before falling backward off his chair, spilling his drink. Waylon chokes back a laugh.

“I think we have to cut you off now, Miles.” 

“Way, listen, tomorrow we’re turning around and going back east so I can drive to my old college town and curb stomp whoeverthefuck that dude is.” 

“We are not doing that. He probably doesn’t even live there anymore...right?” Waylon looks at Blake inquisitively. Blake shrugs. 

“Probably not. Miles’...situation prompted an investigation and the professor was extremely fired. Well, ‘persuaded to resign,’ but the same thing. He’s either dead or somewhere else.”

“See?” 

“I wanna kick his ass, though.”

“Come on, Miles, time to lay down.”

Miles gets to sleep within an hour, leaving Blake and Waylon awake and chatting, the alcohol doing its job to improve their social skills. 

“...grew up in a Bay Area Koreatown. My dad was still back in Korea last I heard from him- Busan, I think,” Waylon says, taking a small drink. “We drifted apart after mom passed. I regretted it until…”

Blake nods. “Lynn and I don’t really- didn’t really talk much to people. Working too hard.” 

“Lis and I have college friends, but it’s not safe to talk to them again.” Waylon pauses. “Or her family.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s my fault, anyway.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment. Moonlight filters through the windows of their hotel room. Waylon absently taps the glass he’s holding. 

“Waylon?” 

“Hm?” 

Blake takes a drink, staring ahead. “I- Miles didn’t say much about it, just implications, but...you...in Mt Massive…”

“What about it?” 

“Did you have someone hurt you?” Blake asks, before frowning. “I- I don’t want to say it in a way that might make it worse, but I- don’t know. It didn’t happen to Miles, and I...don’t want to sound crazy to him. Not yet, at least, and if my brain made you up at least I didn’t know you before now.”

“What do you mean, Blake?” Waylon replies cautiously. Blake looks down at his lap.

“I, I’ve seen your leg, and that’s not what I’m talking about. Not that kind of pain. I mean…” Blake struggles, wordlessly, before Waylon responds softly. 

“Yes. Someone tried, at least.” He pauses, stomach turning. “One of the patients I met. He had delusions about having a wife and family. He tried to take anyone he found and make them fit.”

Blake nods. “One of the cult leaders in Temple Gate...she- she? Their cult worshiped Lynn’s baby. They…”

Waylon nods. “I know.” 

“While I was there, I saw when I was a child,” Blake says slowly, and Waylon listens. “My first elementary school. I remembered why our best friend Jessica Gray died, and why I moved away. It was for the same...sort of reason. I was a coward then, and I was a coward when it was me.” 

“You...you were a scared kid when your friend passed,” Waylon counters cautiously. “You didn’t know any better. An-And Murkoff tech screws with your head. Not getting away doesn’t make you a coward.” 

“Did you feel like a coward?” 

“I don’t know. But I was terrified.”

Blake and Waylon sit quietly together for a few minutes, before Blake speaks again. 

“Did they screw with your head too? Is that how Miles can make you sleep?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why did you email him?”

“Sorry?"

“Out of everyone you could have called...what made you think of Miles?”

“...he seemed...determined enough.” Waylon shrugs. “He cared more than anything. And he, he hated Murkoff, so I thought he would believe me.” 

Blake gives Waylon a nod. “Was...curious. And you were right.” 

“Blake?” 

“Hm?” 

“What was his name?”

“Whose?” 

“The- the one who hurt your friend. I, I want to know. I...if we have nothing better to do, I want to find some modicum of closure for one of us. At least...let you close some wounds. You know? I feel useless otherwise.”

Blake pauses, eyes wide.

And gives Waylon the name. 


	5. Wyoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon cracks under the pressure and needs a break. Fortunately, they're going to have a rendezvous with Lisa the next day. Meanwhile, Blake starts to talk about the things he saw in Temple Gate with Miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think at one point I'm going to write everyone's version of a breakdown, just Waylon's came first while I was having not so good of a day and needed to take it out on someone.
> 
> There's no explicit trigger warnings in this chapter, but once again, Blake alludes to past CSA in regards to Jessica and Fr. Loutermilch. 
> 
> _I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour,_   
>  _But heaven knows I'm miserable now._   
>  _I was looking for a job and then I found a job,_   
>  _And heaven knows I'm miserable now._   
>  _In my life, why do I give valuable time_   
>  _To people who don't care if I live or if I die?_
> 
> \--The Smiths, _Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now_

There is only so much that a human can take before he breaks, and Waylon wonders if he’s already passed that point long ago. 

When the lucrative contract from Murkoff chained him to the dark lab chambers where everyone treated him like yesterday’s shit. Is that what broke him first? When they confiscated everything he had to stay even remotely sane under the guise of security? (Lisa, sweetheart, please believe they’re not letting me call you. I would never ignore you. Never forget you.) 

Maybe he was already broken before he sent Miles an email. Maybe the dominoes falling after that just made it worse. 

He’s not the first one to have a breakdown in their time together, but it feels infinitely more humiliating to be the first one to beg Miles to pull the car over so he can throw up his guts at the side of the road in some dry brush while Miles rubs his back and he blubbers incoherently about needing to see Lisa. 

“It’s alright, Way. We’re gonna see Lis tomorrow. I promise. You’re gonna visit the kids tomorrow. Okay?” 

Waylon buries his face in his hands, shaking like a leaf. Blake crouches next to them and offers him a bottle of water. 

“Miles…”

“I’m here, Way. Anything trigger this?” 

Miles is asking so he knows if they did something wrong, so they can stop. Waylon knows this. But the traumatized, paranoid part of him wants to hide it from Miles because if you let someone know what bothers you they have power over you. 

The part of him that knows Miles is good and will take him to Lisa as promised wins. 

“N-No, you didn’t- I…” he snivels pathetically and throws up a wave of bile. “Just f-felt it again. That place.” Waylon takes the water from Blake and fumbles it as he tries to take a drink. This time, his stomach stays in place. “I couldn’t stop it, I just-”

“It’s okay,” Miles says softly. “You’re not in trouble.” 

Waylon sniffs, and starts blurting out what he hazily realises is probably way too much information for Miles and Blake. He barely notices what he’s saying. 

“-and, and everyone would single me out and I don’t know why. It was, I thought it was a pretty normal job but everyone was just kind of mean, you can’t- can’t fix everyone right? But they were all more and more and  _ more _ as time went on and I saw them using the engine just for their curiosity and hurting people because it was fun and they were okay with cutting off the outside because it didn’t matter to them and they were mad it mattered to me and they wouldn’t let me see Lisa-”

“Shh, we know, Way.” 

“-and- I couldn’t leave because of my contract, and the money, and the boys, I needed to do it for them but all I did was fuck up, oh god.” 

There’s a spell of silence for a while, only broken by Waylon’s dry sobs. 

“You think you can get back in the car, dear?” 

“I’m sorry,” Waylon chokes out.

“Yes or no, Way?”

“...yes.” 

Miles picks him up gently- Waylon’s brain wants to describe it as bridal style but the thought makes him want to struggle, so he doesn’t. He just hangs on to Miles’ shirt. 

“Can you get the back door, Blake?” he hears Miles say, and then Miles puts him down on the backseat and pulls up the standard car blanket they keep around. “Get some rest, alright Way?” 

“ _ Sa-lang-hae-yo, _ ” Waylon slurs. Miles looks at him sadly before butchering the response so hard that Waylon almost wants to laugh when Miles shuts the back door. 

“Na-do sa-lang-hae.” 

Waylon hears Blake get in the passenger seat and Miles get in the front. 

“Is he going to be alright?” Blake asks quietly, before Waylon feels the pressure of the Walrider in his head coaxing him into unconsciousness. 

\-- 

Miles and Blake are silent for a while as they continue to drive. 

“Sorry you had to see that, Blake. He’s- he’s going to apologize when he wakes up, I know it. Dammit, now I sound like Way.” 

“What did he say to you before you put him to sleep?” Blake asks. Miles pauses. 

“It’s pretty much one of the only phrases I’ve ever learned from Way, to be honest. ‘I love you.’” 

Blake hums. 

They drive in silence for a while before Blake says something. “Miles?” 

“Hm?”

“You knew about Waylon and...that one man, in the asylum, that he had troubles with?” 

“The crazy womanizing one? Wait, that doesn’t narrow it down. The misogynistic serial killer? There. At least Blaire wasn’t a serial killer.” 

“I’m going...to take that as a yes.” Blake shifts in his seat, then looks down at his hands. 

“What’s wrong, Blakey?” 

“I want to tell you what happened to me but I have no idea where to start and I’m terrified you’ll hate me.” 

“Why would I hate you?” Miles asks, confused. 

“I did something terrible when I was a kid. I made myself forget until I started seeing things.” 

“You were a kid, Blake. You weren’t mature enough for whatever you did to be something you blame on yourself. Someone else prompted it in you, you know?” Miles breaks off, gathering his thoughts, and looks at the road. “When I was eight or nine I stole a book from the library.” 

“What? You? That’s the most terrible thing you’ve ever done?”

“Okay, listen, there’s a story here, smart-ass. There was a fucking competition at the local library for books and shit. My parents were not so hot at parenting, so, I hung out there all the time. And when I was around them they were cheating the system, you know the type, complaining at restaurants to get free food. And they had this Jack London book I really wanted-” 

“Wait, you read Jack London as a kid?” 

“Yeah, it was Call of the Wild, pay attention. So I cheated. Did I make the decision? Yeah, I guess I did. But was I solely responsible for it? No, of course not. I was fucking eight and didn’t know better.”

“But did you keep the book?” 

“Okay, yeah, I kept the book,” Miles replied with a small grin. “But only because I didn’t know better until much later. And after that, I kept it instead of giving it away as a reminder.” 

“Of what?” 

“In any story, kids usually don’t know better. If there’s a problem, the kids didn’t make it, the adults did. You didn’t do whatever you did. Someone else did, through you.” 

Blake lowers his eyes. “That’s the problem.” 

“Mm?”  

“I knew one of mine and Lynn’s teachers was doing something horrible to our friend in elementary school. I- the memories are so jumbled, Miles- I knew I was afraid of him and that he did something and she died. And I couldn’t tell anyone what he did. I only remembered it in that place. Even then, it was…” Blake gestures, rolling his wrist. “Like a dream. Vague, fuzzy, I had to piece it together from even hazier memories, you know?”

“I know.” 

“The whole time while I was in there and in- wherever you rescued me from...I was swinging between that dream and the horrible place where Lynn died. And I had to relive, over and over, him using his position to intimidate me into leaving him and Jessica alone the afternoon she died, Lynn’s death, the crash, every major awful point. The things they believed about Lynn, about- the baby, about me. The devil, god...” Blake pauses, then lifts his hands to show Miles the scars on his palms. “...an all-American messiah.” 

“Blake…”

“I barely remember exactly anything anymore, though, because every time I’d just start to think about what I could have done different. Not taken the story with Lynn, stayed with Jess, if I had known what I was seeing maybe I could have fought it, could have asked you for help before going-” 

“You can’t change it, Blake, you just have to live with what you did. It’s not your fault what happened to Jessica happened, and Lynn isn’t your fault either.” 

Blake flinches. 

“You’re okay, Blakey. Do you want me to see if we can do the same sorta stuff we do with Way?” 

“What?”

“It’s Murkoff tech, right? Maybe it can interface. Tidy up your memories.” 

Blake chews his lower lip. “I don’t want anything else rooting around in my head, Miles. Even if it’s you.” 

“Hey, that’s fair.” Miles shrugs. “You’re still Blake. My...late best friend’s nerdy husband. You have your fucking  _ Eagle Scout _ you shitass nerdy goody two-shoes.” 

“What the hell kind of turn of phrase is that?” Blake says weakly. 

“Fuck you. Fuck you is what.” 

“You really haven’t grown up, have you?” 

“Growing up is for  _ losers, _ ” Miles shoots back. “Losers with  _ all of their fingers. _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going through some stuff right now, but keeping all my fics on track is the only thing holding me together, so I don't expect any delays. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this far- or thanks for keeping up, if you have. I think this act should be drawing to a close soon enough.


	6. Idaho, again/Montana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa makes a visit. Miles drives all night- at least, until a gas station attendant uses the wrong words. A classic song makes a timely cameo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels more transitional than I wanted, but oh well! I like it! So there! 
> 
> _Tell me now, tell me this_  
>  _A forest's son, a river's daughter_  
>  _A willow wand, a willow wisp,_  
>  _Our ghosts will wander all of the water..._  
>  _But I pulled you, and I_   
> _Called you here._  
>  _(Didn't I, didn't I?)_  
>  _And I caught you and I,_  
>  _Brought you here._
> 
> \--The Decemberists, _The Hazards of Love Part 4: The Drowned_

Miles hangs back with Blake to smoke a spare cigarette as they finally meet Lisa again on the hiking trails of a state park. 

Waylon and the kids sit down on a log to chat, and Lisa kisses him on the cheek and makes her way over to Miles. 

“Hi, Miles.” 

“Hey, Lis. This is my friend. Blake Langermann.” Miles lifts the cigarette to his lips. Blake gives her a shy wave. 

“Uh, forgive me if I don’t shake hands, Mrs. Park…”

“That’s alright,” Lisa assures him. “Are you working with Miles and Waylon on the Murkoff case?” 

Blake glances at Miles, who shrugs as if to tell him it’s his question to answer. “I...suppose so.” 

“Hey, Lis, speaking of his hands, can you take a look?” 

“I dropped out of vet school, Miles,” Lisa scolds, offering her hands to examine Blake’s scars. “I’m not a doctor.” 

“You dropped out of vet school because you were over it and went straight to taking the bar exam. I think you’ll be fine.” 

Blake gently offers Lisa his hands, almost flinching. Lisa examines. 

“They’re mostly healed up. Puncture wounds, looks like, so you’ll probably have some soreness and such...but I guess you already know that.” she pauses. “Do you know if he has his tetanus shots and such, Miles?” 

Miles takes a breath of his cigarette. “Way said Murkoff files said something about the best medical care. They needed him alive.” 

“Then that’s probably a yes. That means risk of infection was low. Anything acquired around the time of the injury that’s curable should be gone by now.” 

“Syphilis?” Blake asks. 

“Was it contracted before the injury or the time of?” 

“Time of, most likely.” 

“Then there’s a high chance they flushed it out. Syphilis is treatable with proper care if they find it in time.”

“Told you you could help, Lis.” 

Lisa folds Blake’s hands back together for him, and then glares at Miles. “You’re lucky it wasn’t something big. Next time you demand medical care from a  _ lawyer _ I reserve the legal right to knock your block off.” 

Miles laughs to himself. “You can do that, Lis.”  

“Good. Now I’m going to go see my husband. It’s very nice to meet you, Blake. I’m sure my husband and Miles are taking care of you. I’ll see you next month, Miles.” 

As Lisa walks back to Waylon, Blake looks sideways at Miles. 

“So that’s Lisa?” 

“Yep.” 

“I can see why Waylon was so...in love with her.” 

“Is,” Miles corrects as they watch Lisa hug her husband. “He is in love with her.” 

“Are you bitter?” 

“Fuck no. Lisa’s great. If I ever loved a woman it’d be her, I can’t blame Way.” Miles shrugs. “Lynn, maybe, too, but she was always just my best friend.” 

“Mm.” 

“C’mon,” Miles says. “I think the kids’ll wanna meet you.” 

“Wait, the kids?"

“Uncle Miles!” Jasper Park calls across the trail. “Come here! Appa says he’s going to bring us dinner and you have to drive him!” 

“Did you say that?” Miles asks Waylon, who shrugs apologetically. 

“Yeah, I did. I have some ideas, don’t worry.” 

Blake tries proper Asian food for the first time since college that night.

\--

“They’re cute,” Blake says. Waylon nods as Lisa packs the twins into their car across the parking lot.  

“I probably sounded like a stereotype in there, huh.” 

“You just tried to teach them some food.” 

“We wanted to raise them culture-conscious. Now that I’m not around them, they know more about Lisa’s Jewish culture than mine. It’s...it hurts.” 

“It’s no big, Way,” Miles interjects, ruffling Waylon’s hair. “Lisa’s got them a bunch of books and programs. You just teach them the stuff that’s you. That’s what matters.” 

“I guess.” Waylon pauses, before looking from Blake to Miles and back again. “...where to next?”

“Montana?” Miles asks. “Continuing our tour of middle America? Lots of shitty motels and untainted wilderness with some spots of civilization in between?” 

Blake shrugs a bit. “I don’t mind as long as we’re, uh, working together.” 

“Montana is fine,” Waylon agrees. 

“Bet I can have us in Missoula by tomorrow afternoon,” Miles says with a small smirk. Waylon squeaks. 

“No! No, you are NOT driving all night! Just because you have the Walrider, doesn’t mean I’m going to let you!”

\--

Miles makes a promise he refuses to keep and keeps driving at night, the country highways only lit by the headlights of their four-by-four and the occasional farm turn-off. 

Miles shut the radio off long ago, so as not to wake up Blake and Waylon, who are both sound asleep for once. Miles would never admit he had, once they both started to get tired, sent out a wordless suggestion to let them rest. Normally he’d ask permission, but he felt a few hours of silent driving would do him some good. 

Life came at them pretty fast these days, and sometimes Miles just needed to drive through the night- it was almost therapeutic. 

Around midnight, he stops for gas. Pays in cash, as per usual. Reaches out strands of nanites around the store’s shadows to shoplift some snacks. The only attendant on duty is a gruff, chubby older guy whose nametag Miles mostly ignores. 

“Thirty bucks on pump six.” 

The guy looks up, tired, from his redneck magazine, and takes Miles’ cash. “That’ll be all for ya?” 

“Yeah.” 

Miles feels himself brush against some display of irrelevant car accessories on his way out. As he gets to the doorway, gravity wins, and it falls over. Miles feels a twinge of guilt, but opens it to leave anyway. May as well give the worker something else to entertain himself, and it won’t do to leave Waylon and Blake asleep in the car for too long. 

“Hey!” the worker calls. “You gotta pick that up, buddy!” 

A wave of rage flows through him, and Miles, swarm crowding around him to defend himself, looks at the guy, who shrieks like a little girl and falls backwards behind the counter. Miles catches a look at himself in the metal of one of the shelves by the door. His eyes are completely black, the rest of his face covered with thousands of nanites, making him look positively unnatural. The interior of the store has become thick with the Swarm’s presence. 

Miles stalks out and fills up the car as fast as he can. 

As they hit the road again, the radio switches on, pulling haunting snippets from the airwaves. They crackle with static, but Miles can still make it out.

_...ice surprise...urprise, bring your alibis. _

Miles angrily slams the heel of his palm on the dashboard. The static continues. 

_...e are all just prisoners...ere...of our own...evice.  _

Miles grits out a curse word, and floors it down the road. 

_ In…aster’s chambers...ather for the feast,  _

_...tab it with their steel...ives but they just...an’t kill the beast.  _

Miles drives angrily for the next few minutes to the muffled notes coming from the radio until it concludes its song, and dissolves into static.

_...ou can chec...anytime you like...ut you can never leave.  _

The drumbeats and staticky guitar cut in and out for some time after that as Miles grips the steering wheel tightly. When the radio finally turns to static, he pulls over, not even bothering for the moment to check on his companions before getting out and walking a few yards off the road from the car before burying his face in his jacket and screaming at the top of his lungs. 

\--

When Blake wakes up the next morning (early, the car clock says five am) he first has to pick up his glasses off the floor. 

Then he discovers that the car is parked on the side of the road and Miles isn’t in the front seat. 

Blake pauses, rolls out of the car, and cleans himself up in the dry grass at the side of the road before circling around to where he finds Miles sitting in the trunk sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. 

“Miles?” 

Miles jumps. “Blakey, jeez-- you’re up. Did, did I wake you?” 

“No.” 

Blake pops the trunk, and sits down next to Miles. The sun is coming up behind them. Miles is silent for a long time until Blake talks again. 

“No hotel?” 

“Didn’t wanna wake you up. Sleep’s a hot commodity.” 

“Did something happen?” 

Miles pauses, pointedly looking away from his own actions as he flexes his marred hands. “You know it did. A fucking lot of shit happened.” 

Blake puts one hand on Miles’ shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I blew up on a guy at a shitty gas station and probably created a blip on the Murkoff radar. They’re probably gonna have our plates now.” 

“Did the place have cameras?” 

“I don’t know. The- the swarm doesn’t normally- but they were probably equipped with night vision anyway.” 

“We’ll get to that when we get to it. What happened?” 

“He just said the wrong thing to the wrong guy. That’s it.” 

“And you didn’t hurt him?” 

“No, but I think he shat his pants.” 

“Then I guess the real question is if you’re okay.” 

“What the fuck do you think?” 

They sit there in silence for about half an hour before Waylon stumbles sleepily out of the passenger seat and sits on Miles’ other side, leaning on Miles with a yawn. “Are we watching the sunrise?” 

“Just a little,” Blake says with a small smile. Waylon cuddles into Miles. 

“Bad night?” 

Blake hums assent. Waylon’s still too tired to do anything substantive, but he stays close to Miles, who sighs to himself and puts one arm around his lover. 

“It’s a hell of a morning,” Waylon mumbles. 

“It really is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a soft spot for Hotel California, by The Eagles (which was the song playing on the radio when Miles was losing control.) I spent my pre-teen years in one of the locales that claims to have been an inspiration for the song (though, of course, this has literally never been substantiated.) Because of that, I always connect the song with mental health/an asylum (the reasoning was that the local mental hospital was a common retreat for celebrities in the 50s-80s struggling with substance abuse.) So, included that as a thematic easter egg from my own life. :) 
> 
> That's all the commentary for now. See you Wednesday, Outlast fans!


	7. Nebraska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake has some thinking to do. After Miles and Waylon make a private agreement, he finally has a chance to learn more about what happened to his traveling companions- and they offer this in exchange for knowing more about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little more high-concept than I wanted, but it's also a device to explain that they need to have this understanding without me recapping the entire story of the whole ass trilogy. I'll go in depth on parts of their trauma that I want to discuss, but I don't wanna summarize the whole plot, because that's just busywork. 
> 
> This chapter also contains vague but still present sexual reference in regards to Miles and Waylon's established relationship. 
> 
> _And the sky will come for you once,_  
>  _Just sit tight until it's done._  
>  _The sky will come for you once,_  
>  _Just sit tight until it's done..._  
>  _Only want to get to work_  
>  _But every morning I'm too sick to drive._   
> _Suffering whiteout conditions,_  
>  _Forget the mission, just get out alive._  
>  _Only want to glean the purpose,_  
>  _Only to scratch the surface, raise the plow,_  
>  _Suffering whiteout conditions,_  
>  _Forget the mission, just get out somehow._
> 
> \-- The New Pornographers, _Whiteout Conditions_

Blake drives for the next day. He hasn’t had any hallucinations or anything in a while, and it feels good- that, and Miles needs a break, as well as the fact that Miles says Waylon really shouldn’t drive. 

“He gets more anxious when he does,” Miles whispers to Blake as they pile back into the car. “Last time he drove he was flooring it out of Mount Massive. I think it takes him back.” 

“I won’t make him drive,” Blake promises. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“Don’t have another vision, okay?” 

“I haven’t seen things that aren’t there since Temple Gate.” Blake pauses, bites his tongue, then corrects himself. “Nothing so immersive. Only things overlaid on the real world. I think...it might be one of the wires you reconnected when you woke me up.” 

“Better than nothing,” Miles says, before getting into the backseat with Waylon where they cuddle up, and Blake takes the wheel. 

There’s something that’s oddly relaxing to all of them to be reaching the great plains- no trees, no hills, just flat space, more open than their nightmares. 

That afternoon, Blake manages to check them into a hotel on his own. He takes the money from Miles’ things, and pays. The room probably has a deep-rooted problem somewhere, but one night won’t kill them. 

Not more than some of them have already died, anyway. 

“I’m going to take a nap,” Blake says quietly, as he sits down on the bed, removing his boots. They’re the only remnant of his things from the crash, his ripped clothes had been removed by Murkoff, and they were the only thing Miles found for him. Fortunately, Waylon and Miles had been kind enough to provide him with their clothes, even though it was running thin. Blake pauses, on that thought. 

“Can we stop by a goodwill tomorrow or something?” 

“Sure,” Miles says, giving him a thumbs up. Blake strips down to a recycled pair of Miles’ boxers and lies down. Once Miles thinks he’s asleep, Blake hears Miles tug Waylon into the bathroom with a soft noise of caution from the latter. 

It’s not the first time Blake’s been exposed to Miles’ sex life- he could recall in vivid detail what it was like finding out Miles  _ slept with Blake’s own college roommate-  _ but something about this was different, in a way Blake couldn’t put a finger on. They had been fully together for a month and a half, now, and most of the time he would just turn the TV on, sleep, or go on his merry way. They were probably having plenty of therapy sex before he even entered the picture. 

Blake pulls a pillow over his head so he doesn’t think about his and his wife’s best friend eating out a lover feet away.

\--

He wakes up at sundown, or just after it, and fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand before putting them on. Miles is sitting in an armchair watching TV with no shirt. The shower is on. Blake blinks slowly. 

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty.” 

“Is it morning?” 

“Turn of phrase. I ordered delivery.” 

“Hm?” 

“Yeah, you still like that, uh, pasta you used to make with Lynn all the time? The, uhh...carbonara?” 

Blake hums assent, more thrown by the mention of his past life with Lynn. He lays back down, but leaves his glasses on, more not wanting to look at shirtless Miles than anything. 

“I need to ask you somethin, Blakey.” 

“What?” 

“Way found one other thing, while we were picking you up. I...wanted to wait until you were slightly better to touch it.” 

“What is it?” 

“Your camera. I checked it to make sure it was yours, and...I just saw the footage of Lynn. The stuff in the helicopter, you know what I mean, right?” 

“Yeah,” Blake says in a hushed voice. 

“It’s funny. How we all came to rely on one little thing.” Miles stands up and walks over to his duffel bag, and digs out from the bottom his own camcorder. Blake recognizes it- that thing was practically Miles’ first love. He saved up for it since their junior year of college, and used the same one for most of his videos, even when Blake’s own outpaced it. 

It looks like it’s been run over by a truck. There’s dried blood stains, other questionable fluids, and the screens are cracked beyond repair. Blake doubts anyone could put it back together, even if it’s him or Waylon, who have technological skill. 

“You know I’m not good at talking about things,” Miles says, turning the camcorder over in his hands, running one thumb over the fractures in the screen. “I figure...maybe the first step is we don’t need to explain so much as show. It might be tough, but it can help. Lisa’s seen Waylon’s. I’ve seen some too.” 

“He has footage?” Blake asks, confused. 

“He grabbed an abandoned one, kinda like this. He knew about their night vision. A great way to see in the dark without being seen- but I think you already know that, Blakey.” 

Miles pops out the sim card from his camera, and then puts it on Blake’s bedside table. “The cut-for-time version is on there. If Waylon wants to approach you, he will. We talked about it.” 

Blake tries to turn his mind away from the idea of Waylon Park and Miles Upshur discussing him post-coital. 

“...Miles, I-”

“It’s going to be hard to watch. But you need to know. And we need to know from you.”  Miles slides the sim card closer to Blake. “You know that, Blake.” 

He doesn’t want to say so, but-

“I do.” 

“Good talk,” Miles says, trying to lighten the mood, a sympathetic smile in his eyes. “Besides. I think this is easier than trying to say it. There’s no words for the things we’ve seen. We’re going through hell together. We may as well share the burden.” 

“I’ll try it.” 

“When you’re ready.” 

The next morning, Blake lets Miles drive again and borrows old, beat-up headphones and Waylon’s laptop. Waylon sets him up in the backseat, and Blake feels Miles’ sim card digging into his clenched right fist, even though it hurts his scars. Waylon pauses in the middle of a motion of programming to look at Blake- then he flicks his eyes back down to the keyboard, ejects a second sim card, and pushes it onto the mousepad, keeping his eyes averted. 

When he returns to the passenger seat and turns on the radio, the second card is still there, and Blake takes it in his other hand, so they both sit daintily on his stigmata. 

It almost strikes him as unfunny. 

He inserts Miles’ sim card first, keeping Waylon’s in his left, and keeps the headphones in so as not to let triggering sounds escape. 

And the prophet watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's probably going to happen with this series: 
> 
> The second act will make up the biggest chunk of it since I haven't quite found a place to cut it off yet, but it'll start to deal with their coming to fit together.
> 
> The third act (which already does have a name!) will mostly deal with interpersonal support through their individual traumas, and may also remain slice of fucked-up life when I want to write PolyCamory.


	8. Iowa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake sees things. Miles communes with the Swarm. Waylon and Lisa...are in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea for the future of the series was actually rather sudden, but I enjoyed it so much I slotted it in.
> 
> _And I heard my unborn children's requiem,_   
>  _I saw carved upon a stone my epitaph._   
>  _Sometimes, it seems to me, there is nothing left between_   
>  _Me and eternity again._
> 
> \--Tyr, _Ragnarok_

When they stop for the night, Blake isn’t ready to talk, not yet. He’s run through the director’s cut of both pieces of video, but he’s not sure what to say- or what Miles and Waylon want him to say. So he just quietly tells them he’s going to process, and then steps to the shower. He brushes past Miles on the way in, and as he shuts the door behind him he processes that he’s seeing things again. 

It looks like Miles’ video sprang up to life around him- a dingy hall, stained walls, things scattered across the floor. Blake takes one step forwards, when he hears the bellow echo through the halls. 

_ “Little pig!” _

Blake takes a deep breath, and looks at his hands.  _ This is Miles’ tape. It’s in my head. It’s a hallucination. It’s not real. It’s not real. _

He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again he’s still breathing heavily, perfectly normal, fine, and safe, in a small motel bathroom that looks perfectly tranquil. Miles is knocking on the door. 

“Hey, Blake, you okay? You sounded like you were having a panic attack or somethin’.” 

“I’m fine,” Blake calls back, voice shaky. “All fine.”

\--

The next day, Blake lays down in the car and quietly passes Waylon the remains of his much nicer camera that Miles always said was an expensive piece of shit. 

If he were the person he was before going in to Temple Gate, he would have asked Miles who was laughing now, but he can’t bring himself to. 

Waylon nods and murmurs his thanks before opening his laptop. 

Blake closes his eyes, and sees the slats of a locker with shining eyes peering through, predatory grin, and a whisper of  _ there you are, darling. _

He must still need time to process those videos- the videos, and the empathy he feels for Miles and Waylon, and awe at the strength they must have to share that. 

\--

Another month passes by slowly. Lisa greets them in another city, and passes them by slowly. Waylon holds on to her like it’s the end of the world. 

It may as well be, actually. 

Blake’s sitting by Miles as he smokes- one of his favored college pastimes, actually- when Lisa checks his hand, and he sees something new. 

He’s standing in a house he doesn’t recognize- children’s toys scattered liberally, and he’s in the kitchen, making lunches. 

The doorbell rings, and Blake’s legs carry him to the front door. There’s a man in a suit there, and Blake knows that in this vision he hates this man. 

_ “Mrs P-” _

_ “Ms. Park.”  _ his voice- no, Lisa’s voice- grits out, glaring at the man.

_ “I’m Jeremy Blaire from Murkoff, Mrs Park. I’m here to inform you that earlier this afternoon your husband, following an admission of stress-induced breakdown, was voluntarily admitted to our psychiatric program at Mount Massive Asylum. Rest assured, we have the best treatment available to him, and-”  _

_ “Chazer.”  _ (Pig, hypocrite,) Blake’s insight into Lisa’s moment supplies. Lisa Klein Park- fluent in both Hebrew and Yiddish, thanks to her upbringing.

_ “Pardon?” _

Blake thinks this Jeremy Blaire fellow- he recognizes the guy from Waylon’s tapes- doesn’t know much Yiddish. 

_ “Der got vos hot geshpoltn dem yam vet dir shpaltn dem kop oykh! Got zol dir helfn vi a toytn bankes! Get out of my fucking house! Now! Or I’ll turn your fucking intestines into a telephone cord!”  _

Blake does an internal whistle. Those are some interesting insults Lisa knows. He wonders where she even heard stuff like that. 

She slams the door, and leans against it, sliding down into sitting and crying softly into her hands. 

_ “Mom? Are you alright?” _

_ “Co-- Coming, Jasper. It’s nothing, alright sweetie? I’ll be okay.”  _

_ “Who was that at the door?” _

_ “Nobody who matters, baby.”  _

Blake spends a moment sorting through the feelings he gets through Lisa- worry, fear, love, knowing deep in her soul that Jeremy Blaire was lying through his damn teeth. 

“-ake? Are you listening? Your hands are doing fine, hon. You don’t have to worry about it.” 

Blake takes his hand back, and blinks slowly at Lisa. “I- sorry, I-” 

“Hey,” Miles says calmly, flicking ashes off his cigarette. “Slow down, Blake. You see something again.” 

“Yeah,” Blake admits. “I kind of did.” 

\--

They’re cracking open a six pack together in their hotel room as Jun and Jasper enjoy their nintendo switch next door in Lisa’s room. 

“So you...see other peoples’ pasts?” Waylon asks, frowning. 

“I, um, thought it was your tapes going through my head, so I didn’t-- unless someone recorded Lisa cussing out your old boss in Yiddish, I don’t think that’s it.” 

“You cussed out Blaire in yiddish?” Waylon asks, and Lisa shrugs calmly. 

“I would say that I hexed him. Since I said that god would split his head like the red sea and give him the help medicine gives a corpse.” 

“Can I marry you again?” 

“We can talk about renewing our vows later,  _ sheifale, _ ” Lisa comments, hiding a smile in her drink. “What can I say, sometimes a language other than English makes emotions easier to get across.” 

Miles leans across the bed to prod at Blake’s face. “So what did this? Like, how are you seeing that?” 

The Walrider flares around him, and Blake can feel it prodding at his head as he stutters out a response. 

“I-In T-- In Temple Gate, the light that Murkoff had, it showed people their worst moments. But you couldn’t see the visions other people saw.” 

“No, that’s- the Walrider is the only Murkoff tech I know that gets in someone else’s head. And it’s gotten in you, and it’s gotten in Way-” 

Lisa snorts at the phrasing. 

“-which can be a little hot if I’m being honest, getting in Way, Lisa, we gotta have a talk later babe.” 

“Please stop talking about your sex life,” Blake says, voice raising an octave as he speaks. 

“-there’s a bit of it in you.” 

“What?” 

“Like, the thing about Waylon is that it’s more that there’s- a hole,” Miles babbles, continuing to be way too close to Blake’s face. “A slot? In his head? Where the walrider fits in, like a little game cartridge, you know? And I can- I can see it, right? So I know I can put myself there and when he agrees to it I do. But your head, your head is like a piece of it broke off in there, and now it’s floating around, giving you a little bit of its ability to see inside peoples’ heads. It must have learned the neural patterns from that radio tower Murkoff had.” 

“So...it’s replicating the effect in my head? But only for me?” 

“Yes!” 

“You guys got superpowers with the PTSD,” Waylon mumbles jealously. “I got the superpower of being easily manipulated.” 

Miles pauses, leaning back, flapping his hands a little as he thinks, beer totally forgotten. This is not Miles’ drunk self- they know this well- but more Miles under the influence of the Walrider’s scattered neural network. 

“I don’t know how we missed it before, that a chunk of it was gone, but pieces of it go day by day. The Swarm is a unit. As long as one survives, We survive. The ones inside my body can divert resources to replicate to create exterior defenses when required. Some are inevitably lost when I calm the Swarm. This Colony must have been considered lost and cut contact with- then they replicated on their own within Blake to augment his brain.” 

“Can you...get them out?” 

“No,” Miles says, shaking his head, staring up at the ceiling, eyes glazed over, hands twitching. “Link’s been cut between the Swarm and the Colony. Colony is its own now. We don’t think it will develop into a Colony the size of the Swarm, or at the power of the Swarm, it will likely remain at present power levels. Colony’s abilities require a name.” 

“A name?” 

“Wernicke named the Swarm the Walrider, after the monsters his mother told him stories of. Alp: a Germanic elf-creature living in the mountains that attacks during the night and survives off and thus manipulates dreams. Also known as Walrider. The Swarm would like the Colony to have a name as well.” 

“Huh.” Waylon pauses, fiddling with the tab of his can of beer. “What do you think, Blake? It’s your baby.” 

Blake flinches. “Terms.” 

“Sorry.” 

Blake looks down at his cup. “I mean...it came from the flash. So how about the Flash? The Walrider and the Flash? It sounds like a horrible superhero duo.” 

“The swarm finds this acceptable. Though Swarm and Flash are more extensions of one’s ability, one’s neural connections, than own beings...the Swarm has seen many, many hosts, and wishes for Flash to be used for good.” 

“We will.” 

They lapse into silence, and then Lisa finally speaks, after taking a drink of her beer. “So when is he coming back?” 

“Give him about fifteen minutes,” Waylon says. 

“Does he...blink in that time?” 

“Haven’t seen him blink coming out of swarm mode before.” 

“He’s like an owl,” Blake says thoughtfully.

“I think owls blink more.” 

“Do they?” 

“I’m not sure. I’m an engineer, not a biologist.” 

“Don’t look at me,” Lisa says with a shrug. “I dropped out of vet school.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! Blake's visions serve a niche purpose now! 
> 
> There's a lot of notes I have on this that'll probably end up in here sooner or later but to be honest, the only thing I have is the (joke) verse that made me laugh while writing this. It was runner up for being at the start, but it was just too comedic in origin for the tone of the fic overall- still, it contains my favorite Blake jokes, so I can't leave it out. Here it is: 
> 
> _Have you heard of the all-American prophet?_   
> _The blond-haired blue-eyed voice of god?_  
>  _He didn't come from the middle east like all those other holy men!_  
>  _No, god's favorite prophet is-_  
>  _All American!_
> 
> \--The Book of Mormon, _All-American Prophet_


	9. Arkansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake thinks and listens, and inches ever closer to a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [wakes up] oh fuck! i have to post more content about miles upshur and lynn langermann being friends! [runs into heavy traffic] 
> 
> _Now I can't believe that it will be five years_   
>  _Since we both stood here, looking out at this city with minds so bold and thoughts so clear._   
>  _We said 'we- are gonna get- out of here.'_
> 
> \--First Aid Kit, _Shattered & Hollow_

Blake sees more visions from The Flash the next few days, of things that terrify Miles and Waylon in different ways. 

He sees the Swarm- before it was Miles’- lifting Miles up against the wall and flailing him around like a ragdoll. He feels the heat of an oven on his skin and the way his hands ache when he hits at the crumbling walls trying to get out. He sees the grinning face of a fake doctor holding massive, bone-breaking shears, and he sees Jeremy Blaire with a baton at his neck. 

It feels wrong every time, to look into something that could be considered their individual greatest traumas and not have them look back. 

His videos are often useless. Large missing patches, parts where Waylon mutters that he was “just talking.” It all makes him sound insane. It’s not evidence, not like them. 

And that makes Blake feel guilty- and feel like Lynn died for nothing. 

He’s supposed to have this power now. He’s supposed to be  _ the prophet. _ That’s what they said when they did this to him. So why is he so useless to this crusade?

Blake puts his glasses on as he listens to the muffled sound of Miles and Waylon...distracting each other. He can’t exactly blame them. Miles is a guy who holds himself together in the worst of times, and Waylon’s constantly falling apart from his exposure to the engine. It only makes sense. 

Waylon emerges from the bathroom some time later, hair wet and mussed, eyes slightly glazed. He pulls on a t-shirt slowly, leaving him in his shirt and boxers. Miles leans out of the bathroom, face coated in shaving cream. 

“Way, go lay down.”

“M’fine-”

“You’re out of it, Way. Come on, get rest, you can stay with Blakey.” 

Waylon makes a noise and sits down. Blake sits up slightly. “What happened?” 

Miles shrugs. “Did anything need to?” 

“Good point.” Blake pauses, fiddling with his glasses. “Are we moving today?” 

“If we can get Way in the car, then the sky’s the limit.” 

“And Murkoff?” 

“With any luck, they won’t make a showing soon. But this isn’t a lucky group.” 

“Depends on how you look at it.” 

“Huh. Guess so. Hey, I’m gonna finish shaving. Can you stretch Way’s bad leg for him while he’s feeling down?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Blake says, having seen Miles do the same plenty of times before. It’s not uncommon for Waylon to waver between detached and present. Blake gets it- he does the same. 

So he imitates to the best of his ability the way Miles pulls on Waylon’s foot to flex the muscles, and the way Miles rubs his thumbs into the calf- especially around the scarring. 

Waylon doesn’t talk much, but he appreciates it. Blake can tell. 

\--

Blake thinks he loved Miles in college. 

Don’t get him wrong- he loved Lynn with all his heart, finding her again was like a sign from above. He loved Lynn with all his heart, he still can’t take off their ring, can’t believe she’s gone. Hears her voice when he hears anyone who’s gone. 

But he also...perhaps...loved Miles. He wasn’t the most educated person when Lynn introduced him to Miles, he’s not proud of it. Ignorant, not bigoted, not trying to be. 

Miles and Lynn had to teach him how to be good, and that was just as much of a Miles effort as a Lynn effort. 

They made him a better person. 

Miles liked to drink in college, too. He would drink and write (and then post, if he still had the energy) posters about different social issues around campus. Lynn always said she could never believe Miles had a drunken accident with a staple gun. Miles went to pride in his biker jackets and yelled rebellious words, Miles joined a fraternity just to write a twelve-page article about the prevalence of what he told Blake was “rape culture” and “a disgusting trivialization of alcoholism.” Miles got his shit kicked in by the fraternity when it came out, and all of that left  _ Miles fucking Upshur _ with a permanent roguish scar on his chin.  

Lynn was almost made to be Miles’ other half, by then- if Miles wasn’t mostly-gay (a “self-described fag”) Blake would have felt a little threatened by their friendship. Lynn edited Miles’ big piece. Lynn cut her own hair for a while so that people would look her way. Lynn heard that Miles got beat up and went out to the frat house with a baseball bat and hit right back so hard that the offenders were too ashamed to even discuss it. Lynn would record and document any comment made against her and systematically persistence-predate her foes. When they wrote and investigated together it was almost like watching two predators- one to make a scene, one to outflank. 

And Blake felt like a third wheel with them at times, just taking pictures when they asked, filming where they asked when he finally had the resources, and taking care of both of them. Maybe that’s a strong thing in and of itself, Blake wonders- the idea that caring for someone who is that much larger than life makes the caretaker a hero too. 

“Hey, Miles,” Blake says, voice raw. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you remember, in college, when after you published the frat story you stumbled in to our apartment all beaten up?” 

“Barely remember the walk to your place,” Miles hums affirmatively. “But I remember hearing you and Lynn arguing and then hearing her walk out the door. And I definitely remember seeing one of the guys who did it with a broken arm the next day. I don’t think that was one of mine.” 

“No. It wasn’t.” Blake curls up tighter, smiling to himself. “Lynn went armed.” 

Blake remembers gently treating Miles’ cuts and bruises with butterfly bandages and ice, wondering why he couldn’t stop thinking about Miles’ golden-brown eyes. 

In retrospect, maybe that was- to use words he didn’t know before he met Miles and the new Lynn- a little bisexual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not filler if it's character development!


	10. Missouri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles communes some with the Walrider. Blake tries to ask a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said on Tumblr, the last week of my life was kind of hard because of school. I put all of my fics on an impromptu hiatus (except my fallout 4 one, which is all already written) because of this. 
> 
> But, happy Sunday, I've decided this fic is going to at the very least end with the boys in a polyship. 
> 
> _All your sad and lost apostles hum my name and flare their nostrils,_   
>  _Choking on the bones you toss to them._   
>  _Well I'm not one to sit and spin,_   
>  _Cause living well's the best revenge_   
>  _Baby, I am calling you on that._   
>  _You savor your dying breath,_   
>  _Well, I forgive but I don't forget._
> 
> \--R.E.M, _Living Well is the Best Revenge_

It’s annoying to smoke without an index finger on his right hand to pinch the cigarette in while he’s exhaling smoke. 

Miles is mostly ambidextrous- if he wasn’t before, he sure would be now- but it still irritates him. Makes a hot bubble of anger form in his chest. 

For all the writing and reading he’s done about trauma, it still surprises him to be conscious of how differently they’re all coping with their individual horrors. 

He should be in bed with the others, but he needed a smoke and some time away from remembering, and the Walrider drifts lazily around the room inside, feeding on Waylon’s dreams, so at least they’re both having a midnight indulgence. 

“Can you-” Miles inhales his cigarette. “Can you be consistent about what you are? Are you a machine or a demon? Are you good or evil? Are you part of me or not?” 

The Walrider sits up from Waylon’s chest, brushing over Blake’s body on its way to the balcony door. 

“We are a reflection of our hosts. We are part you, but not. We are part machine, and part concept. We have no morals. We are a dream, so we are never consistent.” 

“What about the flash?” 

“The flash is a waking dream. They are no different in that.” 

“How do you eat them, anyway?” Miles asks, watching ash from his cigarette fall to the motel parking lot below. “Their dreams. How do you do it?” 

“Specific pulses run across the brain. Electricity, power, that comes from sleeping brain activity.” 

“R.E.M sleep. Like the band.” 

“Yes. We take these signals for ourselves.” 

“Huh.” Miles taps the cigarette on the railing again. “Do they notice?” 

“Most forget their dreams before they wake. It is a blessing to them to take theirs.” 

“What about the tearing people apart?” 

“What about it?” 

“Billy enjoyed inflicting it as our host. He was angry, so we were angry. You are angry too.” 

“Yeah,” Miles says with a sigh. “Different kind of angry.” 

“We know. We are inside your head.” 

“Thanks for the reminder,” Miles replies irritably, before dropping his cigarette onto the hood of a minivan containing some perfect suburban family vacation. It won’t burn the hood, but it’ll cause them some irritation the next morning, and somehow, he kind of appreciates that. 

The Walrider, unused to hovering by their hosts for extended conversation, races off into the night sky to spend some time on its own. 

Miles dreams through its eyes of running through the forest, taking out anger that’s his-not-his on common wildlife. 

\--

The first time they pass through a major city in some time, they drive through St. Louis. They debate going up the arch (Blake’s got a dollar-store disposable camera now, and he’d like to see the view) but seeing the crowds they decide against it in the end. 

They end the day outside a Sonic drive-in, Miles hanging his left arm with a better grip on a cigarette out the window, Blake inhaling a hamburger, Waylon offering Miles a tater tot. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” Waylon says, voice neutral. Blake makes a noise of assent, mouth full. 

“You’re  _ never _ quiet,” Blake agrees. 

“Just thinking,” Miles assures them, forcing a smile onto his face and raising his cigarette to his lips. “Gonna eat after, Way, cigs make me either hungry or sleepy.”

“I’d rather hungry than sleepy, since you  _ are _ driving.” 

“This time of day? Solid hungry.” 

“Seriously?” 

“I don’t think I ever saw him go to bed before 2:30 A-M at the earliest,” Blake comments. Miles grins to himself. 

“Yeah, of course not.” 

Miles groans softly as a waiter skates out, and leans his head out the window lazily. “Look, we said we ordered everything, we’re not even done eating, come-” 

The gun in his face stops the complaint. “-on- oh come  _ on! _ ” 

“We’re going to need Langermann and the whistleblower.” 

Miles sighs, then sits up in his seat. “You have any idea who you’re talking to?” 

“You’re a wanna be wit-sec officer from VIRALeaks,” the agent says, “And you’re not gonna be moving an inch. Hands up.” 

Miles can’t help but grin. 

“You’re not getting to them without going through me.” 

“We will find them. No matter what you do, there will be a day you can’t escape.” 

Miles shrugs. “Not this time.” 

At a mere thought, the Walrider materializes, throwing the agent up into the air like a ragdoll, their gun clattering to the ground. Miles opens the door and picks it up as the Walrider continues, toying with them forty feet above the pavement, high enough to make a fall fatal.

“Don’t drop him,” Miles comments to himself, and to the Walrider. “Let’s make Murkoff pay for this place’s cleaning.” 

The Walrider grasps the agent’s arm in one ethereal claw, and flings it far across the parking lot. Someone screams. Miles would feel nauseous at the scent of blood through the Walrider’s nose, but he has to keep a cool head for his passengers. He starts the car. 

“Time to go.” 

The Walrider remains until it’s almost at the end of the tether between it and Miles, bathing in the viscera of Murkoff goon. After that, it races after their car, keeping pace with the freeway, and Miles enjoys feeling like he’s driving and flying at the same time. 

\--

“Do you remember,” Blake says, that night, after Miles has calmed Waylon down enough, “When Lynn and I both asked you to be our best man and man of honor?” 

“Yeah, you were both trying to beat each other to the punch.” Miles chuckles. “Lynn won, but I planned your bachelor party as a consolation prize.” 

“Remember how you said it was going to be in a co-ed strip club because you were on both sides of the wedding and you earned it?” 

“And also because it was your last chance to realize heterosexuality’s overrated and run off with me?” Miles laughs at his own past joke. “Yeah, duh, of course I remember.” 

Blake pauses, deep in thought. 

“What does this have to do with that whole display back there, Blake?” 

“Do you think he would share you?” 

“Huh?” 

“Waylon. Do you think he would share you?” 

“It’s a little late to decide to run away with me, Blake,” Miles replies. 

“Maybe. We already ran away, anyway.” 

“Just a little.” 

“How do you not run out of money?” Blake asks. Miles shrugs. 

“Waylon’s a hacker now. He’s been pulling from Murkoff for a while. Not at a steady clip, but it works. Dunno how he does it, though. He could use his powers for evil if he wanted. I’m damn lucky he’s the whistleblower.” 

“And you’re lucky he’s yours,” Blake adds, filling in the blanks. 

“Hey, Lis shares, maybe we can do a little negotiating, make this family a step bigger. You’re already here, anyhow. Not like you’re not already part of it.” 

“I…” Blake pauses. “Maybe. I’ll think about it. I don’t-- always know what I want.” 

“You’ve got us whether you like it or not, however you want, okay? Now, let’s talk about how I stole a bottle of Absolut from the last convenience store we passed through and had the Walrider break the anti-theft lock, because that shit’s gonna put me in a way better place after the, you know, brutal murder I committed earlier.” 

The Flash shows Blake another image of Mount Massive as Miles gets up to fetch his stolen booze from his bag. Waylon scolds Miles for stealing, and Miles simply shrugs and enjoys his spoils. 

Blake wakes up, and they slowly come back together again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the lowdown: 
> 
> ""act 3"" probably isn't going to be a proper act at all. there's no movement towards an [external] goal because that feels like how this verse is going for me. idk why. it's going to be shorts and vignettes of our heroes working through their experiences more together as a polycule. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, folks, I'll be back Wednesday.


	11. Illinois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To third soulmates, to multiple lovers, and to where we all belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a day late cause I'm stubid and forgot I was supposed to post this until way late last night. 
> 
> Do enjoy!
> 
> _You summon the breath to finally say_   
>  _It's only an avalanche away, feels right_   
>  _And you can stay here tonight_   
>  _Yeah, you can stay here tonight._
> 
> \--The New Pornographers, _Avalanche Alley_

Miles sleeps in the next morning, so Blake’s woken by the sound of Waylon clumsily retrieving one of the various types of walking aids Miles has accrued for him from pharmacies across the nation. This one has a forearm crutch, and Waylon jumps a little to notice Blake sitting up and fumbling for his glasses. 

“Morning, Blake. I didn’t mean- I, um-” 

“It’s alright,” Blake says quietly. Better not wake Miles. He rolls out of bed, padding over to Waylon, and then helps Waylon fit his arm into the brace. 

“Thank you.” 

“Bad leg day?” 

“Yeah...and I, um, wanted to go for a walk. Not too far. Just around the hotel. Would you...like to come with me?” 

Blake pauses, then nods. “Sure.” 

He has to grab a pair of shoes, but he helps Waylon around the halls of their Holiday Inn or equally chain-y, forgettable place to rest. There’s a wall at the edge of the parking lot, where Miles put their car, and Blake helps Waylon sit on it to rest and then sits beside him. They didn’t realize how early it was- the sun is coming up just now, breaking through the clouds with highlights of orange and red. Waylon looks up. 

“Blake?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you choose to see things? From the Flash?” 

“I can, I think. I don’t normally try to, if that’s what you’re-”

“Can I show you something,” Waylon blurts. Blake nods.

Waylon places his unencumbered hand on Blake’s. “I need someone to know.” 

_ It’s a room in the deepest dungeons of Mt Massive Asylum. The walls are lined with plastic and plexiglass, except for one concrete monster that holds expensive TV screens. Blake feels the chair he’s sitting in, feels the restraints attached to his arms, but the only thing he can really see, really feel, are the staticky images on the tv and the sound of snow. _

_ The whole experience feels like a dream- like he’s trying to panic about something, but he can’t remember what, and the harder he fights to try the more exhausted he feels.  _

_ If he listens, he thinks he can hear a voice in the static, but he can’t make out the words.  _

_ It’s an experience that should be a violation, should be terrifying, and he should be screaming, but he can’t. His head is simply empty.  _

_ In a perverted way, it’s almost relaxing. He could give up. He could cease to care and let the static drive him down.  _

_ He’s jolted from his trance.  _

The vision ends, and Waylon shakily retracts his hand, looking down at his lap.  

“Know what?” Blake asks hoarsely. “What about that?” 

“I-” Waylon breaks off. “It’s hard to explain. But I feel guilty about it.” 

“Because they figured out what you were doing?” 

“Because I couldn’t fight it.” Waylon pauses, then wrings his hands. “I’m- the engine changed me, Blake. I used to be the kind of person who could keep up with someone like Miles who likes to fight, but now I just feel that feeling, of how maybe I should just stop and everything would be better all the time. And-- I know what depression is like, it’s not that. It’s Murkoff. Still in my head because they want me to shut up. And most of the time, they’re winning. They defanged me. They got what they wanted.” 

Blake pauses, letting the pieces fall into place. “It doesn’t need-” 

“It kind of does. At least, for right now. You have the Flash to read peoples’ pasts, Miles has the Walrider, the only thing I got was the power of having Murkoff shouting that there are five lights in my head.”

Blake looks confused, and Waylon mutters sheepishly, “It was an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation where Picard was captured on a secret mission by the Cardassians and they tried to break him by putting him in a room with four lights but they kept telling him there were five to get him to agree with them and-- yeah.”

“It’s alright,” Blake says. Waylon sighs. 

“It’s really nice to have you around, Blake. It’s made Miles so much happier. I mean, we aren’t exactly living the dream out here, but...he feels safe with you.” Waylon swallows, looking up at the sunrise. “It’s why I just want to tell you that if they win and I crumble into nothingness and I go back to that place forever I want you to take care of Miles. Please.”

Blake swallows the thickness in his throat at the thought of seeing Waylon in that place from the outside, already knowing how tempting the idea would be were it not for him and Miles. “I’ll take care of Miles if  _ anything _ happens to you. You have my word.” 

“And I’d do the same, y’know? I just- I feel more at risk,” Waylon comments lamely. “But the Flash mostly listens to you now. Miles mostly has a handle on the walrider. But this is out of my control.”

“It’s alright.” 

“Blake?” 

“Hm?” 

“‘He’ would be okay sharing.” Waylon cracks a weary smile. “The life we have now’s too short. We need each other. That’s what Lis saw when I had to run off with Miles. It’s okay if you don’t want to do anything about it right now, because Lynn...but just know that we’ve got you. For everything.” 

“Why do you and Miles fuck so much?” Blake feels the words tumble out of his mouth, and then turns red. Waylon flushes as well. 

“Well...it’s the Walrider. It’s one of the only times my head feels completely silent. That it’s just me in there. He helps me let down my guard and all my triggers until I’m just me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Waylon looks even more embarrassed. “There’s this... _ thing _ he can do with the Walrider...and like that, I know he’s got me. I feel perfectly safe. Barely anything even trauma triggers me anymore then. But I get so…” Waylon makes a gesture with his hand that Blake takes to mean  _ nonfunctional _ \- “-we can’t have it all the time. I’m not useful like that.”

“Like seeing that room?” 

“I suppose so. But it’s with someone I trust to let me come back up. Miles would never put me under forever. Murkoff would take their first chance. And it feels like as much as I let Miles fiddle around in my head, he can’t chase out Murkoff. Like a virus you can’t quite purge.” 

“I won’t let Miles be hurt,” Blake promises. “And I’m going to do my best for you, too.” 

“Thank you, Blake.” 

“He always reminded me of Lynn,” Blake says. “Same loud mouth, you know?”

“Sometimes the same thing reminds me of Lisa. I think our wives would have gotten along.” 

Blake feels a hollow sadness in his chest. Yes, Lynn would have liked Waylon. She would have protected him with the same ferocity with which she protected Miles from himself. 

“Probably.” 

“Maybe that just says something about us.” 

“Almost definitely.” 

Waylon leans gently on Blake’s shoulder. Blake lets it be, and keeps talking. “My family wasn’t fully religious, but they were rather conservative. They would never have approved.” 

“Of us?” 

“No. They liked Lynn enough, but only because she had a future. They sometimes thought her mouth was too smart.”

“Miles always says they’re afraid of people who talk too much because they’re afraid those people will say the right thing.”

“That sounds like Miles.” Blake puts one arm around Waylon protectively. “Lynn and I went to elementary school together. I’d say we were sweethearts, but kids don’t really do that any more than playing. My parents took me out of that school after Jess died. I didn’t meet Lynn again until college. We recognized each other again immediately, even fifteen years later. I never believed in love at first sight, but that was about as close as you’d get.” 

“I met Lis in a GE lecture,” Waylon responds quietly. “I hadn’t done anything with myself yet- I was wearing baggy sweatshirts because I hated people looking at me. The professor still called my birth name for roll. She sat next to me and I was almost in love, then I realized she was probably straight.”

“How long did you know?” 

“Since mid-high-school. It was complicated up until then, but I couldn’t stand anything anymore. I tried to experiment, and it all felt awful. I never had good penetrative sex until I met Lis- and Miles. It was all miserable, and I was miserable, playing the role of the good daughter. I hated her, except her was me, and it was all wrong.” 

Blake knows he could never understand, but his heart still aches for Waylon. Sympathetic. 

“So...Lis helped me change my name, pushed through my surgeries...married me after being my rock for the whole thing. I never felt so free in my life.” 

Blake thinks he knows the feeling. “I felt the same way when Lynn and I knew we had found each other again. We got coffee together, and caught up some, and found out we were in the same program. She was in journalism, I was in film. Same department. We had three classes together by the grace of god. I had no idea how much I missed her until then.” 

“I know,” Waylon says softly. “It’s not often life gives you two love stories. Or maybe three, for me.” 

“Am I the third?”

“Maybe. Possibly. I don’t really know right now. Is that okay?” 

“It is. For what it’s worth, you would be my third, too.”  

“To third love stories? Third soulmates?” 

“To third soulmates.” 


	12. Michigan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything starts all over where it began- speaking out against the corporation that ruined their lives and brought them together, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _There's no crime, yet I stand accused_   
>  _And I... see the solution naked before me._   
>  _You reduced me to a weapon, unlike you_   
>  _Have faith in me, have faith in me..._   
>  _I cannot hear, though I incline my ear, why do I even try..._   
>  _I've told you all but what I am_   
>  _Have faith in me, have faith in me..._   
>  _I'm feeling weak today_   
>  _Please, don't crush me_   
>  _I keep on walking, far away,_   
>  _I keep on crawling, all in vain._   
>  _I am feeling slow today_   
>  _So don't rush me_   
>  _We live this wretched serenade..._
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, _For the Sake of Revenge_

“What about Canada?” Miles asks Blake and Waylon from across the booth in a tiny, greasy diner. 

“Can we even get in to Canada?” Waylon says. “I know we break a lot of laws sometimes, but- that’s kind of a big one.” 

Miles shrugs. “Better than here. Jerk-offs may be the most evil people out there, but they at least pretend to play nice internationally. To first world governments, anyway.” 

Waylon stares at his drink, trying not to think about the other things Murkoff has done to people with even less of a voice than them in poorer countries. 

“Hey, Way. That’s why we fight, alright? How’s the blog coming?” 

Waylon pauses, and pulls out his laptop. “I’m working on it. The last one, where I posted with VIRALeaks...they hacked it and started posting spam, so, um, I had to cut it off. Anyone who goes in the back end now is going to get a very annoying computer worm.” 

“Are they still trying?” 

“Yeah. I, um, the worm collects data from them and pings it through a few different modes of contact to take the important stuff to me. Also it eventually blows their hard drive if they don’t notice it long enough. They really don’t treat IT workers well, so...if they keep up that way maybe it’ll make its way to their network, who knows. But now I have to make sure the new site for all of us has more protection.” 

“That was a company thing?” Miles asks, resting his chin on his hand. “Not treating IT nice?” 

“Fuck no they didn't,” Waylon says, looking up over the screen. “My boss got transferred for making sexual harassment complaints and replaced with Jeremy Blaire, and they didn’t take legal recourse against the guy responsible. Just threw him in the engine to keep him quiet. I, um...think you’ve met, Miles.” 

Miles tilts his head. “I don’t think you told me this one, Way.” 

Waylon ducks his head and starts typing something, code, most likely. “It was him-- you know, Trager. Real creep. I, um...hated him before, believe me, but I don’t think that what they did to him was the right punishment. It just made him way worse, you know? I should have spoken up then. I’m sorry.

“Hey, hey,” Miles interrupts. “That’s okay, love. It’s okay. It’s never been your fault. Remember? It’s never been on you.” 

Miles places one hand over Waylon’s, stilling his typing. 

“It’s alright, Way. Really.” 

Blake looks down at his plate, dragging his fork through the remnants of his omelet. (Miles said he needed more protein.) 

“What...is the point of the site, anyway,” he says. “There’s no guarantee people will listen, Miles. It’s such a huge risk-”

“But it’s one we have to take,” Miles insists. “Posting not just copies of our videos- yours too- but talking to the public about our lives now, how much it hurts- it’s an appeal to pathos, Blake, you know the argument.”

“We’re not advocating for a class-action lawsuit, Miles. This isn’t going to be the thing that busts Murkoff, because the government likes having people like them around to do their dirty work.”

“But the government is controlled by people who read things like this,” Miles insists. “We have to try. We can’t just give up, Blakey! We can’t just wait around for a fourth person like us. Or a fifth, or a sixth, how many more people have to see what we did until we have an argument? How many saw the same things but didn’t make it out to tell a story? They tried to kill us, yes, but the majority of them were just people who needed help and got screwed. They got perverted by Murkoff into murderous lunatics and fanatics. We have to give up our sense of self and tell the story. For the sake of anyone else Murkoff has their claws on right now.” 

Waylon sighs, leaning his head on his hand. “It’s...just hard, Miles. But also, you look kinda dreamy when you’re all full of righteous fury.” 

Miles pauses, then laughs, Waylon’s flirtation breaking the tension. 

“Only for you, baby. Only for you.” Miles pauses. “Well, for both of you. Babes. You sexy devils, you.”

The tension breaks further, causing Blake to stare at Miles over his glasses with a  _ seriously? _ Look, and Waylon to burst into snorting laughter. 

It’s agreed. There’s no secrets between them and the world anymore. 

\--

Miles sits in between a sleeping Waylon (fortunately put to bed by the Walrider) and a sleeping Blake (twitching slightly) with the computer illuminating his face. The Walrider glides through the room, entertaining itself with little loops and twirls, until it speaks.

“You said no secrets, but you know you cannot tell everything.” 

“I know,” Miles replies irritably, staring at the blinking cursor. 

“You cannot tell them about us. Or what you do to Waylon. Or Blake’s Flash. That would make people afraid of Us. Even though We cannot do this to everyone.” 

“I know.” 

“But you struggle to tell the full story without Us?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then pretend We were destroyed when you killed Our previous host. As far as anyone but Murkoff need be concerned, We are no more, and there is only You.” 

“I don’t remember how we got out of there.” 

“We carried you. Up the steps and outwards to the bay doors, where they had parked their tanks and useless pea-shooting weapons. We killed the tormentor. We saw the whistleblower escape, We pushed him through the gates and onwards to the world. We healed your wounds, and began to heal the damage caused by the gunshots. We followed the Whistleblower’s head to his home with his Lisa and his Twins. There you were awakened to explain to them that he had to leave.” 

“How do I explain all of that without you, man?” Miles points out. “There’s gonna be gaps.” 

“The mind is a picky thing, host. Gaps can be attributed to trauma of the situation. Gaps are only natural.” 

Miles groans out a sigh, and stretches his remaining fingers. 

“Do you wish for us to help you type? So it may go faster?” 

“What do you mean?” 

The swarm dispatches some units to form ethereal finger prostheses- Miles examines them. 

“We cannot replace them, but We would like to help you tell our story. And theirs. The Whistleblower brought you to Us, and you brought Us away from that place. We repay our debts.” 

Miles’ ghost fingers flex naturally. 

“We cannot maintain these forever. Or often. But they will help you tell our story.” 

Miles rests his hands on the keyboard. “Fine. Let’s start writing.” 

\--

Miles writes the post Waylon’s pinned to the top of their site, explaining their situation. It goes something like this. 

\--

_ I once wrote that you can’t swing a dead cat in an area of human suffering without hitting some Murkoff account. I was right, but I also had no idea of to what ends Murkoff would go for money and power.  _

_ A year and a half ago, the public saw the Murkoff whistleblower tapes. Three months later, the outsider video was released as well.  _

_ The site to which both videos were originally posted was soon after hacked, posting spam imagery to discredit the story.  _

_ The whistleblower is not a storyteller.  _ (Here, Miles stopped typing to run one hand through Waylon’s bleached hair with fondness. He had to.)  _ He’s just one man who made a deal with the devil because he has children in a world where to love your children is an expensive thing to do. He called me to Mount Massive as the cameraman of the outsider tapes because he needed someone to tell this story. We’re going to.  _

_ He’s written some kind of security for this site- I don’t know the details nor do I care to post them where our enemies can see- that’ll hopefully keep it safe from the hacks that brought down his first account associated with VIRALeaks. We’ve been spending the year and a half since his tapes first appeared staying under the radar together, coping with severe instances of post-traumatic stress from what we witnessed- and that should come as a surprise to no one.  _

_ We met someone with similar experiences to us. He’s not much of a storyteller either, but we knew each other when we were young. He lost his wife to another sick Murkoff cesspool of suffering and violence. This blog is for not just you, the reader, to understand what we go through on a daily basis since then (the various mental health issues that desperately need relief, the isolation, the fear) but what we experienced, so that hopefully, no one has to experience anything like this again.  _

_ On the one hand, I think it’ll be therapeutic for them- the Whistleblower and the third cameraman- to discuss their traumas. On the other, reader, I want you to get fucking mad that someone has to suffer like this. Not just us, but the people who got tortured in our videos to become that monstrous. We may not be saints, but we didn't deserve it. Anger is a powerful motivator- it can drive you to rash action, yes, but it drives you to action. We’re not just talking about this for the therapy. We’re not just doing this for fun. Use what you learn here and what we give you to stick it right to Murkoff, right in their inhuman faces, and tear them the fuck apart for us.  _

_ The things we write on here are for the sake of revenge.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of Act II, now it's time for me to talk plans for Act III. 
> 
> First of all, my sincere apologies for skimping on the Sunday update- as I've mentioned elsewhere my previous computer bit the big one (RIP) and I was waiting on its replacement. Can't post fic from my phone. 
> 
> Act III is going to exist, but it's going to be formatted much differently than its predecessors. It's going to be a mix of introspective blog posts from Miles (The Outsider) Blake (the Temple Gate Cameraman) and Waylon (The Whistleblower) discussing their specific manifestations of PTSD and such as a form of therapy and persuading their audience to get mad and get even. Between those, I'm going to sprinkle one-shots as I feel the mood strike about their continued lives on the run together. Maybe they'll finally settle down in a house relatively off the grid? Who knows? 
> 
> As always, thanks a million for keeping up with this series, and I hope whatever act III brings, you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing these. 
> 
> Now to you, past me, for the tumblr links and work outro.

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests! My rules and info can be found on my [tumblr](http://maggie-wittington.tumblr.com) where I can also be contacted to discuss details of my fics, with just about any question you want! 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!


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